Home
by Vytina
Summary: Be it ever so humble, there is no place like home.


**A/N: A oneshot I was inspired to write after watching "King's Ransom". This focuses on Jack and Melanie Walker, formerly of the Royal Flush Gang. It is a piece of pure sibling love, delving into some of Jack's memories as an older brother, and the resurfacing of those feelings after Melanie posted his bail at the end of the episode. **

**Title: Home**

**Summary: Be it ever so humble, there is no place like home.**

**Characters: Melanie Walker, Jack Walker**

**Rating: K**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of or associated with Batman Beyond.**

**Please review!**

* * *

**Home**

Blue.

Sharp, cool blue eyes staring up at him from a pale face. Tiny delicate brows etched above them, soft cheeks below them. And a dark red blanket all around that little face, born mere hours ago. Mother wouldn't let them put the baby in a _pink_ blanket. Red was much more appropriate, she said. It was dignified…_regal_. Nothing less would do for a future Queen.

But all he remembered was blue.

She had opened her eyes so quickly after being brought into this world, as though she was impatient to see the world, to start experiencing all it had to offer. Her eyes had not looked at Mother, though she was in Mother's arms. Her eyes had not looked at Father, though he stood over her, the towering figure he had once seemed when his children were small.

She did not seem to understand their pride and triumph. She did not seem to understand that her birth had completed the "family structure". She did not, in her brief moments of innocence, know what her life would soon become. What _she_ was to become.

Her eyes had stared at him, first before anyone else. Those crystalline irises had gazed at him, soft amongst the bold color of her blanket. _All_ of her was soft in comparison, really—unblemished, round cheeks, a soft pink mouth, light wisps of pale blonde hair peeking out from under the blanket. But those eyes…her eyes stood out above all else.

She had sought him out, finding him against the far wall, eyes downcast. Three years old and instructed to not speak unless he was spoken to, to not approach unless he was beckoned to do so; intended to be insignificant in this moment to allow for parental triumph. And yet, he felt those blue eyes trained on him, questioning and curious. Strange emotions, alien to him after being accustomed to piercing evaluation from his parents.

He had let himself succumb to the weakness, the tugging intrigue that brought his eyes up to meet hers—black finding pale, innocent pools of blue. She made no sounds, only stared at him. Perhaps she wondered why he was so far away, questioning why he did not come closer and allow her to know him, to memorize his face.

But he wasn't allowed to come closer that night, or the next night. Father said the future Queen needed her rest, and she was not to be disturbed with idle curiosity.

And yet a child's curiosity knows no bounds.

It was the third night when he had slipped out of his bed, forcing himself not to shiver at the cold tile that met his bare feet. The house had been cool that evening, with the nighttime winds drifting in through the open windows. He remembered taking a blanket from his bed, wrapping it around himself to try and capture some heat for his shivering body.

Slowly, stepping carefully through the halls, keeping close to the walls, he had walked. Every step seemed to echo in the dark emptiness surrounding him. Every breath had to be drawn in and released carefully and only when necessary. If Mother or Father found him out of bed in the middle of the night…

Finally, the nursery.

He had slowly turned the handle, nudging the door open with a care and deliberation that was utterly alien to other children of three years. And he had closed it with just as much caution—never leave anything half-done, or so he had been taught. And so he would continue to be taught…though he hadn't known it at the time.

A soft whimper had broken through the silence, and his heart had leapt clean to his throat. His first instinct was to hush her, to quiet any sounds that could alert Mother (or worse, Father) to any intrusion to the peace of the night.

But then he saw those blue eyes again. They stared at him through the thin bars of her crib, curious and wondering. Perhaps she was asking if he was really there. Did she recognize his face in the darkness? Did she even want him in this room with her?

Another whimper, and those blue eyes fell closed. That soft face was tight, wrinkled in some kind of discomfort. Tiny arms lifted weakly, seeking some kind of protection from an unknown provider. It took little time for him to understand the source of her distress: the window was open, permitting a breeze to enter. No doubt to her tiny, vulnerable body, it was icy cold.

His hands slowly unwrapped the blanket around his shoulders. He was warm now. His body could maintain the heat until he went back to bed.

Carefully, standing up as tall as he could possibly reach, he'd lowered the blanket down, down into the crib. It folded over her small frame, nice and smooth, until she was completely covered in soft, black wool. Her whimpers ceased, eyes opening, and he was staring at blue again.

Then, the corners of her mouth had begun to twitch. For a heart-stopping moment, he waited for her to cry…

…only to see her smile.

She smiled at him.

His baby sister had smiled at him…_for him_.

Just like she was smiling now.

* * *

Seventeen—almost eighteen—years later. Almost four months of separation, of wondering in the solitude of his private thoughts whether or not she was safe, what she was doing with her life…and now, she was here. Her blue eyes the same as always, her arms open for him as she walked forward.

"I made a lot of salads to pay for this." She murmured as they embraced. Neither released the other first; it was, perhaps, a mutual movement.

"You shouldn't have." He answered, his smile genuine—this was the first time in years that he could remember having a _reason_ to smile like this.

"Hey, we're family…okay?" she answered, "I've got a job for you…a _real_ job. That is…if you don't mind washing dishes…"

She sounded hesitant again, looking up to him with approval. She had always been looking up to him…ever since they were young. Truly, some things never changed, did they?

Some things were _meant_ to never change.

"Are you kidding?" he smiled at her, "I was the best dishwasher in J.V. Hall."

A loud voice, shouting in protest, cut through the reunion. Both looked over to observe the commotion with distain, though perhaps there was a touch of vindictive satisfaction mixed in on both faces—for different or identical reasons, who could know at this point?

Her blue eyes narrowed. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

As the orange and red streaked sky greeted them outside, her hand touched his shoulder. He found her biting at her lower lip—an odd little quirk she'd always had, ever since she was little, to relay a feeling of shyness or insecurity about something.

"I should tell you…" she spoke softly, the shyness and concern seeping through in her voice, "Where I'm living now…it's nothing like what we grew up with. It's small—_really_ small. I've been looking for a better place…but right now, where I'm at was all I could afford. Maybe, with the two of us working, we can—"

"Wait," he stopped her with a lifted hand, "You bought a place for yourself? With your own money?"

"Earned from making salads." She nodded, a small smile twitching the corner of her mouth. "I'm getting really talented at making them now."

His hand lowered down, wrapping around her shoulder and tugging his sister closer. "Seems you've got quite a bit of talent that I didn't know about." He commented, his smile returning, "I look forward to seeing just what else you've learned…sis."

She returned the smile, her eyes lighting up. He knew that smile. It was the same smile she'd given him when he praised her for reading her first book, start to finish, with no assistance. It was the same smile she'd given him when he'd snuck her out of the house and taken her to a park for her tenth birthday. It was the same smile she'd given him when he'd taught her how to drive for the first time.

It was the same smile she'd given him when he had first called her "sis". Not "Ten" or "Melanie", but _sis_. It was the smile she had graced him with the first time he had truly identified her as not just an accomplice, but his family…his little sister.

Her arms wrapped tightly around him. "I've missed you, bro." a pause followed, then she looked back up at him, "Can I ask a favor…?"

"You can ask." He replied playfully.

Smiling, she leaned closer, whispering in his ear before drawing back, biting down on her lower lip once again. But before she could pull away any further, he tugged her back against him, kissing her forehead lightly. And then he leaned back down to her ear.

"You know I love you, Melanie." He murmured, "Now let's go home."


End file.
